


My Favorite Things

by fi_n_n



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Sound of Music AU, i fucking hate myself, im so sorry about so much, secondary scotty/uhura in later parts, this is the first fic ive written in years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fi_n_n/pseuds/fi_n_n
Summary: Cadet James T. Kirk is sent to Vulcan to serve as a caretaker to the four mischievous (adopted) children of Starfleet's Commander S'chn T'Gai Spock after suspension from Starfleet Academy.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk Prime/Spock Prime, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. Leonard McCoy and the Disciplinary Hearing

“Well,” the doctor drawled, his speech thick as molasses and equally as sweet. “how would you suppose you’d go about keeping James Kirk tied down to this here base?” He pushed off his knee, which he’d been leaning forward on, and settled heavily into the backing of his chair as the council looked on.

“It’s about as simple as prying open the lips of an Aldebaran shellmouth… or… trying to hold a moonbeam in your hand.” Leonard McCoy pushed a steady hand through his hair, and huffed a sigh before landing on his conclusion. “There’s no doing it.” 

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest with finality, awaiting a decision he could only imagine ambiguously. There was no predicting what the council would decide, this being the third violation of the cadet curfew that Kirk had broken in the last week, not to mention the sixth violation of some or another basic protocol of Starfleet Academy behavioral procedure in as many days. McCoy had been called in to testify on behalf of his friend though, shifting slightly in his seat at the silence that pervaded the chamber and licking his lips nervously before resettling, he imagined he may have done more harm than good. He knew that his stating the certain: that there was no containing Cadet Kirk, was unhelpful at best, and could only hope the ‘out of touch bastards’, or so they were deemed by Kirk himself, would consider suspension over expulsion. He took a breath. 

“Cadet McCoy...” Admiral Pike breathed, removing his hand from its place at his temples. “It is not the intention of myself of any other member of this council to limit Mr. Kirk.” He laughed shortly, with an edge in his voice. “God knows we’ve tried.”

“Instead, Cadet, we have attempted to organize an arrangement that may serve to… quell the more obtrusive components of Kirk’s attitude. In association with our Vulcan representatives,” he gestured vaguely at a holographic projection of the stony faced T’Pau, broadcast live from the High Chamber of Vulcan. “We have elected to dispatch your friend to Vulcan to serve, temporarily, under the house of S’chn T’Gai. We trust you will be able to relay this order to him promptly.” 

McCoy bit his tongue, thinking already of the fiery opposition this decree would bring. He rose from his seat in front of the council to bow before his exit, his hat pressed firmly to his abdomen. 

“And--McCoy,” Pike added as the doctor approached the door of the suite. “Tell him to consider it… an exercise in diplomacy.” 

Pike’s eyes gleamed with mischief that the rest of his features failed to betray. McCoy nodded at him, finally, before facing the door. He stepped through them swiftly and, as they closed behind him, pulled his cap down over his head. If, perhaps, the doctor were to have let a brief “Oh hell.” slip under his breath before approaching the waiting area, it would have gone completely unheard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Comments are beyond appreciated.  
> 


	2. A Drop of Golden Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes to Vulcan and has a miserable time.

“They want me to do WHAT?” Kirk echoed for the third time that afternoon, his face pink with both the San Francisco heat flowing through their shared, open window, and the warmth of his own exasperation. He paced over the piles of clothing on their doom room floor, long sleeve shirts in command gold stitched haphazardly across the chest with mismatched thread mixed in among dark socks, turned inside out and singed at the hem. “I blow up ONE transformer and they’re--they’re booting me not only out of the program, but off planet?” He sank helplessly into a pile of laundry piled in the corner, strewing his arm over his face like a damsel in distress. 

“You’re not being ‘booted out’ of the program, Jim. Only… temporarily put away from it. Some time away from those damn command simulations might do you some good.” McCoy commented, uselessly.

“When I told mom I’d be out of here in three years, I meant because I’d maximize my class schedule, not because Pike thought I’d build some character taking care of preschoolers on Vulcan.” came the muffled complaint. He sat up abruptly after a brief moment of silence, having been struck by a panicked revelation as the sleeve of a surgical shirt caught on his shoulder. “Bones, what do Vulcan kids do in preschool anyway? Coloring seems… beyond them, even as kids. Am I supposed to be teaching them xenolinguistics?”

McCoy removed the empty hypospray container he’d been chewing on from his mouth as he typed listlessly on his PADD. “I hear they’re adopted, Jim.” 

Kirk sighed and laid back into the pile of clothes. “That is so not helpful.”

McCoy stifled a laugh.

***

James T. Kirk didn’t much think about unpaved roads since leaving Iowa. They seemed almost obsolete, like relics of a life he had long since left behind. For the most part, a component of a planet’s agreeing to become part of the United Federation of Planets lent itself to a convenient degree of industrialization, with special cases being made to the less technologically advanced societies that were reluctant to pave over their lush forests or disturb ancient architecture… which of course meant that on near every planet he’d been to in the last few years of his education, he’d been made comfortable in every capacity, the conventional amenities needed for humanoid life being wholly accommodated for. Further, it seemed to him that none of these extenuating circumstances for a lack of development could possibly apply to Vulcan, a thought which occurred to him as he was rushed off of a tin shuttle and dropped a mile away from the house he was supposed to arrive at an hour earlier. Surely with their temperature-controlled buildings, with coolant automatically released relative to the species occupying any particular area, their hover cars, and wholly logical schedule of public shuttles, they’d have bothered to extend their reserved hospitality into even the furthest reaches of their society. 

Or so he’d thought. 

He had been warned on his way to the S’chn T’Gai manor from a friendly Andorian sat next to him on the shuttle, that ‘The Commander’--the sole introduction Kirk had been given prior to his arrival--appreciated a certain… antiquity in his surroundings. The Andorian whispered to him, blue palm near cupping Kirk’s ear in the compartment filled with sensitive-eared Vulcans, that, during his years in Starfleet, The Commander had begun to appreciate the natural landscape of his home world over the artificial atmosphere he’d been forced to adjust to during his stint teaching at the Academy, and for his brief terms on starships. He bubbled Jim a warm wish of luck as he stumbled out of the shuttle, but no possible kind farewell could make up for the understatement of The Commander’s “appreciation” for “antiquity”. 

The manor appeared as a dark spot on the horizon, which was all but overflowing with golden sand. There was neither a temperature regulated artificial shade tree or road in sight. Kirk adjusted the suitcase under his arm and dug his heel firmly into the ground, which lent itself completely into his weight. He huffed a sigh and trudged a miserable foot forward, already sweating.


	3. Hikaru Sulu and the Double Pane Window

Commander Spock had been planet-side for the greater part of three years. The reports catalogued on the Starship Enterprise contained little detail behind the reason for his premature termination of his service, listing, rather than the common description of a circumstance which would lead to the conclusion of a position such as bridge science officer (which, as it was noted, he occupied with the perfect mark of composure and efficacy of both his species and character), merely his present location and comm number, need he be dispatched or otherwise contacted in an emergency. By remaining an active member of Starfleet, his duties on Vulcan became diplomatic in nature, his joint heritage informing his knowledge and ability to mediate between Earth and his home planet, though his position retained an element of possibility for dispatch that, were it not for this exemplary record, would neither have existed nor been so likely a thing to come of eventual use. There existed the fact, from an objective standpoint, that The Commander could very well be assigned to another ship leaving orbit within the next forty eight hours at any given time. There existed the fact that, from an objective standpoint, it was logical to keep a modest suitcase of basic utilities and clothing items (including a neatly pressed cornflower-blue uniform) in the hallway closet nearest to the front door. And there existed the fact, from an objective standpoint, that The Commander would be reluctant to ever open it again. 

***  
Hikaru Sulu--who at age five was the youngest of Commander Spock’s wards--pressed his young, bright face into the double pane windows at the front of the house in the upset sort of agitation endemic to his impatient age, and wholly demonstrative of the unbecoming emotional quality of his species. He focused and unfocused his eyes as he waited, looking first outward at the sand beyond the window, then the outermost layer of glass of the window, which was spotless and clean from the automated cleaners: little brown dots of hive-minded machinery that kept the sand from building up around the edges. Then, finally, on the layer of glass that his face was pressed against. His cheek had left a smudge of sweat on the inside, which he studied for a moment before wiping it with his sleeve. The action served more to smear the stain than to clean it, but his attempt to erase the bit of mess he’d made was noted. 

The Commander had stepped out of his study without a sound no more than the swish of his heavy robes. Before he turned to pull the door closed behind him, he caught sight of Hikaru sitting against the ledge of the front window, and halted for a moment as he watched his son from the hallway. The Commander allowed his head to tilt so he might make out Hikaru’s movements from so far away, his view partially obscured by the simple framed photos of his children which lined the walls before him and jutted outward from the hall. He waited for the young boy to notice the smudge on the window, and watched quietly as he pulled it into view, eventually reaching up to wipe at it with his sleeve. Refraining from leaning against the glass again, Hikaru settled back against the window, looking outward at the sand. A surge of quiet pride turned low in his belly. Gratified that his son had made an effort to restore the glass to order, despite his understanding that the automated cleaners would have erased it when they’d returned to that section of the house, The Commander took a moment to observe his son in a light of soft contentment before approaching him. 

“Awaiting the arrival of our guest?” The sound of The Commander’s low voice startled the young boy from his place on the ground. Hikaru rose quickly and straightened his shoulders, standing front and center in front of his father. 

“Yes, sir.” He replied, looking firmly up toward him as he let his hands rest at his sides. If The Commander had felt the warmth he’d been occupying before flutter at the sudden rigidity of his son’s behavior, he made no indication of it. He let out a heavy breath, which could not quite have been characterized as a sigh, and moved his eyes from his son to the window in front of him. 

“It appears the need for your patience has ended.” The Commander said simply. Hikaru whipped around to look out the window, taking two steps forward and raising his hands to press against the glass before thinking better of it and lowering them again. He turned around again excitedly, a grin plastered across his face.

“Sa-mekh, can I--” he began, both hands already struggling with the handle on the door. The Commander produced a tin bottle from a pocket of his robes and turned his son around by the shoulder to hand it to him. 

“He will be thirsty,” The Commander explained. Hikaru took the bottle with both hands as The Commander reached above his head to pull the door open in a soft, swift motion. “Be careful, to drop it would be regrettable.”

“Yessir!” The boy exclaimed, his excitement leaping downward onto the front porch before toeing on his shoes and barreling into the sand toward the figure in the distance. The Commander lingered in the doorway as his son departed, the hot air rushing up his figure from the outside. For a moment, a memory of his mother was brought back to him. As he watched his son clamber up the dunes toward the young man on the horizon, her voice came over him in waves, a conjured image of her laughing as she stood beside him, looking out toward her own son who had dashed out in front of her and exclaiming to the back turned away from her, “it’s like a sauna out here, ashalik!”. 

‘A sauna’, he thought. A human curiosity. He closed the door behind him and walked back in the direction of his study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan, translated: 
> 
> “Sa-mekh, can I--” he began, both hands already struggling with the handle on the door.  
> "Father, can I--" he began, both hands already struggling with the handle on the door.
> 
> As he watched his son clamber up the dunes toward the young man on the horizon, her voice came over him in waves, a conjured image of her laughing as she stood beside him, looking out toward her own son who had dashed out in front of her and exclaiming to the back turned away from her, “it’s like a sauna out here, ashalik!”.  
> As he watched his son clamber up the dunes toward the young man on the horizon, her voice came over him in waves, a conjured image of her laughing as she stood beside him, looking out toward her own son who had dashed out in front of her and exclaiming to the back turned away from her, “it’s like a sauna out here, little darling!”.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at @fi-n-n, instagram @elgiehiroshi. 
> 
> (Inspired by this post: https://fi-n-n.tumblr.com/post/615059931096383488/okay-but-hear-me-out-tossound-of-music-au-spock)


End file.
